Questions for Study

1. Think over the events of the past few days, and recall when you needed especially "to think without confusion clearly." If you had done so, what difference would there have been? How can you learn to think in this way? Review a few days with each of the other precepts similarly in mind.

2. Do you think of anything else that a man needs to do “if he would make his record true''?




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Mr. Pickwick found that his three companions had risen, and were waiting his arrival to commence breakfast, which was ready laid in tempting display. They sat down to the meal; and broiled ham, eggs, tea, coffee, and sundries, began to disappear with a rapidity which at once bore testimony to the excellence of the fare, and the appetites of its consumers.

“Now, about Manor Farm,” said Mr. Pickwick. “How shall we go?

“We had better consult the waiter, perhaps," said Mr. Tupman, and the waiter was summoned accordingly.

“Dingley Dell, gentlemen-fifteen miles, gentlemencross road-post-chaise, sir?

• Post-chaise won't hold more than two,” said Mr. Pickwick.

“True, sir–beg your pardon, sir. Very nice fourwheel chaise, sir-seat for two behind—one in front for


the gentleman that drives-Oh! beg your pardon, sirthat'll only hold three."

“What's to be done?” said Mr. Snodgrass.

Perhaps one of the gentlemen likes to ride, sir," suggested the waiter, looking toward Mr. Winkle; very good saddle horses, sir—any of Mr. Wardle's men coming to Rochester, bring 'em back, sir."

"The very thing," said Mr. Pickwick. “Winkle, will you go on horseback?

Now Mr. Winkle did entertain considerable misgivings in the very lowest recesses of his own heart, relative to his equestrian skill; but, as he would not have them even suspected on any account, he at once replied with great hardihood, “Certainly. I should enjoy it, of all things. Mr. Winkle had rushed upon his fate; there was no

“Let them be at the door by eleven," said Mr. Pickwick.

“Very, well, sir," replied the waiter.

The waiter retired; the breakfast concluded; and the travelers ascended to their respective bedrooms, to prepare a change of clothing to take with them on their approaching expedition.

Mr. Pickwick had made his preliminary arrangements, and was looking over the coffee-room blinds at the passengers in the street, when the waiter entered and announced that the chaise was ready—an announcement which the vehicle itself confirmed by forthwith appearing before the coffee-room blinds aforesaid. It was a curious little green box on four wheels, with


a low place like a wine-bin for two behind, and an elevated perch for one in front, drawn by an immense brown horse, displaying great symmetry of bone. A hostler stood near, holding by the bridle another immense horse -apparently a near relative of the animal in the chaiseready saddled for Mr. Winkle.

“Bless my soul!" said Mr. Pickwick, as they stood upon the pavement while the coats were being put in. “Bless my soul! who's to drive? I never thought of that."

“Oh, you, of course," said Mr. Tupman.
Of course," said Mr. Snodgrass.
"I?" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.

Not the slightest fear, sir,” interposed the hostler. “Warrant him quiet, sir; a hinfant in arms might drive him."

“He don't shy, does he?” inquired Mr. Pickwick.

“Shy, sir? He wouldn't shy if he was to meet a vaggin-load of monkeys, with their tails burnt off.

The last recommendation was indisputable. Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass got into the bin; Mr. Pickwick ascended to his perch, and deposited his feet on a floorclothed shelf, erected beneath it, for that purpose.

“Now, shiny Villiam," said the hostler to the deputy hostler, "give the gen'lm’n the ribbons.” “Shiny Villiam”-so-called, probably, from his sleek hair and oily countenance-placed the reins in Mr. Pickwick's left hand; and the upper hostler thrust the whip into his right.

“W0-0!” cried Mr. Pickwick, as the tall quadruped evinced a decided inclination to back into the coffee-room window.

Wo-o!" echoed Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass from the bin.

Only his playfulness, gen'lm'n," said the head hostler, encouragingly; “jist kitch hold on him,

, Villiam." The deputy restrained the animal's impetuosity, and the principal ran to assist Mr. Winkle in mounting

“T'other side, sir, if you please.”

“Blowed if the gen'lm’n worn't a-gettin' up on the wrong side,” whispered a grinning post-boy, to the inexpressibly gratified waiter.

Mr. Winkle, thus instructed, climbed into his saddle, with about as much difficulty as he would have experienced in getting up the side of a first-rate man-of-war.

“All right?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, with an inward presentiment that it was all wrong.

“All right," replied Mr. Winkle faintly.

“Let 'em go," cried the hostler—“hold him in, sir;" and away went the chaise, and the saddle-horse, with Mr. Pickwick on the box of the one, and Mr. Winkle on the back of the other, to the delight and gratification of the whole inn yard.

“What makes him go sideways?said Mr. Snodgrass in the bin, to Mr. Winkle in the saddle.

“I can't imagine,” replied Mr. Winkle. His horse was drifting up the street in the most mysterious manner

side first, with his head towards one side of the way, and his tail toward the other.

Mr. Pickwick had no leisure to observe either this, or any other particular, the whole of his faculties being concentrated in the management of the animal attached to the chaise, who displayed various peculiarities, highly interesting to a bystander, but by no means equally amusing to any one seated behind him. Besides constantly jerking his head up, in a very unpleasant and uncomfortable manner, and tugging at the reins to an extent which rendered it a matter of great difficulty for Mr. Pickwick to hold them, he had a singular propensity for darting suddenly every now and then to the side of the road, then stopping short, and then rushing forward for some minutes, at a speed which it was wholly impossible to control.

“What can he mean by this?” said Mr. Snodgrass, when the horse had executed this maneuvre for the twentieth time.

“I don't know,' replied Mr. Tupman; “it looks very like shying, don't it?” Mr. Snodgrass was about to reply, when he was interrupted by a shout from Mr. Pickwick.

“Woo," said that gentleman, “I have dropped my whip.”

“Winkle,”! cried Mr. Snodgrass, as the equestrian came trotting up on the tall horse, with his hat over his ears, and shaking all over, as if he would shake to pieces, with the violence of the exercise. “Pick up the whip,

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